Downhill slope
by Veinne
Summary: Argus Filch was a Squib, and that's pretty much all you ever knew about him. A look into the old caretaker's backstory, and the numerous tragedies that kept punching Argus in the gut till he was left the snide and despised caretaker at Hogwarts. How could one be so close to what one desires, yet so horribly far?
1. one to eleven

**Unnecessary disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of its characters.**

**I had a little difficulty picturing Argus' life as a child, and more importantly, a Squib, in a wizarding family, because most of the time I was thinking of his grouchy older counterpart, but hey, nobody wants to read about my struggles as a fanfiction author, so let's just skip that.  
**

******I wrote this because I felt bad for Filch and how everyone disregards his misery as a Squib and hates him just 'cause he's spiteful and angry most of the time. I mean, imagine how it must be for him, first growing up in a world of magic and wonder, then finding out that you can't use magic, then working in a magical school for wizards and witches (mostly kids that detest and make fun of you), so close to that world, yet so miserably far.  
**

**Read & review, please!**

* * *

_I_

"Mrs Filch, it's a boy," a Healer informed her kindly, and she did a silly little dance deep inside her heart. It was a boy- her new-born baby was a boy. He was going to grow up to be a wonderful wizard and bring pride to the family, she knew it.

"Please, call me Celia," she said kindly, two dimples forming on her face as she smiled. She wondered vaguely if her baby boy would inherit her dimples.

"Have you decided on a name, my dear?" her husband asked tenderly, his hand laying softly on her arm.

"How about… Argus?" she suggested softly, smiling at the look of her husband's messy hair and attie- no doubt he had fallen asleep in the chair outside her room.

"Isn't Argus a king in Greek mythology or something?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I wouldn't know," she said off-handedly, though she _had_ searched through hundreds of baby names. "So, do you like it?"

"Argus is good," he said, looking up at the ceiling and grinning. "Argus would be wonderful."

* * *

_II_

A four-year-old boy watched curiously as his father took the Floo network to St. Mungo's with his mother. It had been an almost daily occurrence, but this time his father seemed a whole lot more anxious and frantic, and his mother was screaming a lot more than 'normal' too.

He waited patiently in the living room with his toy broomstick, knowing that his father would eventually remember that he had another son as well, and that son was being left unattended in a living room with a large fireplace (out of which they had just left).

"Argus!" Right on time too, Argus observed, letting his father drag him to the fireplace and Floo him to St. Mungo's. Argus didn't like traveling by the Floo network, because it made his head woozy and the world spin like a top, but he didn't complain. Argus was the exemplary child, the one that mothers pointed to and said "you should be more like that!" at.

"Where's Momma?" he asked politely, but he already knew that he wouldn't be allowed into the room. He watched as Healers bustled to and fro, in and out of the room with some funny-looking instruments, observing the bone-over-wand badge on their robes.

"Am I going to have a little brother?" he asked excitedly, willing the world to stop spinning and for his heart to stop thumping so painfully. His father appeared to be in shock, as was normal in this case, so Argus left him alone and wandered up to the tea-room.

He had memorized the floors at St. Mungo's ever since that time where he had accidentally stumbled into the Emergency room and saw a man with a bone sticking out of his skull. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, so now Argus only went to and fro from the waiting room to the tea room.

He liked the cakes in the tea room, but he mostly only ventured there to talk to a girl with sleek blonde hair that appeared to be about six or seven. She had been diagnosed with a fatal wizarding disease, and as she had cheerfully told him, was due to die in about two weeks. She was fascinatingly optimistic about this, and Argus watched in awe as she chattered on about the Healers here and her family and how desperate they were to save her.

His mother gave birth to his younger brother as he was listening intently to a story about how Healer Jones had tried to Vanish a screaming patient's leg after several steak knives had embedded themselves in it.

* * *

_III_

"Mum, will I grow up to be a great wizard?" the now nine-year-old boy asked, his eyes full of wonder and amazement as he watched the Quidditch players zoom past on their Silver Arrows, a new broomstick rumored to be the quickest in existence.

"Of course, dear," she replied quickly, her smile both forced and hollow. He notices this, but does not care to mention it. The dimple-filled smiles directed in his direction had been increasingly fake ever since his lack of any accidental magic incidents had been noted by the family.

But Celia was a lot more observant than people tended to give her credit for. She noticed the slight slouch in her son's posture, the ever-so-tiny frown forming on his face. For Salazar's sake, he wasn't even past his tenth birthday and she could already spot signs of worry lines!

She frowned, and pulled Argus up into her lap. Being a scrawny kid, she could still hug him comfortably from behind, albeit a little awkwardly.

"You'll be an amazing wizard," she whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly and willing herself to forget all the times he fell two feet down from his toy broomstick, when he lay on the ground, bruised and scratched, unable to bounce right back up.

"Just like Dumbledore, that Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts! He discovered the twelve uses of Dragon Blood- I bet you'll be a Transfiguration prodigy just like him, or a potioneer!" she giggled, immersed in fantasizing as she tickled Argus on his stomach. He laughed, a cheery tinkle that made her smile every time he did it.

"You really think so?" he asked, grinning ear-to-ear. He didn't inherit her dimples, and he certainly wasn't a very _handsome_ child, but when he smiled, his eyes gained a certain gleam that made everyone putty in his hands- though he never made use of his adorable smiles very often. She couldn't deny him the happiness he so deserved, could she?"

"Of course I do, Argus," she whispered softly in his ear, hugging him tight as a Seeker swished past. "You'll be the most greatest wizard in wizarding history."

But mothers lie. It's in the job description.

* * *

_IV_

They waited up anxiously, the four of them, a birthday cake sitting uneaten on the table between them, waiting for the precise moment his birthday would arrive.

The day had started off innocently enough, with eggs and bacon and meaningless chatter, but none of them could deny that they had been waiting for this very moment, the clock ticking slowly towards the looming figure of twelve.

An owl hooted outside, and Argus wiped the sweat on his hands onto his brand new birthday robes. He hadn't shown any signs of magic, but his mother had promised he would be a great wizard one day, and his mother never lied, did she?

He was ten, and he was going to be eleven in just five... four... three... two...

The clock struck twelve, and he stared at the grandfather clock blankly, wondering if the Hogwarts letter had been delayed. A thunderstorm? he wondered. A problem in the owlery? It all seemed horribly anti-climatic, the four of them standing there in the kitchen with sweaty palms and an ebony black grandfather clock.

His father coughed and turned away from him. His mother sat by the table and let out choking sobs. He was confused. Why were they so upset? What was wrong? What had happened to his Hogwarts letter?

His eight-year-old brother looked down at his feet, the usual charmingly handsome smile gone from his face. He looked sad, and Argus wanted to comfort him, but he didn't even know what was wrong, so he just frowned. He sat on a stool and felt hopelessly small in the big, tough world.

The cream on his birthday cake began to melt. Tomorrow, the whispers would start.

* * *

_V_

Argus did not understand why Victoria, a ten-year-old kid from one of the wizarding families the Filches were related to, now refused to speak to him. His parents had told him he wasn't a wizard, but that was ridiculous. Jean and Celia Filch were both highly qualified wizards, so he would be a great wizard as well. After all, that was what his mother had told him, and his mother never lied.

"Don't talk to me!" Victoria screamed in her shrill, ten-year-old-kid voice. Argus had been pestering her since she had arrived at his home. Her parents were talking intently and seriously to his parents about _grown-up stuff_, which was hopelessly boring, but she remembered what her parents had told her this morning.

_"Don't talk to that Argus kid," her father had said gruffly, her mother nodding sternly in the background. "He isn't good for you."_

"Why not?" Argus asked, the seventy-ninth time he had asked in this day alone. Boy, that kid was stubborn.

"You're a Squib, you pestering little idiot!" she screamed, huffing as she turned her blonde curls away from him. Her parents had told her how unworthy a Squib was of her time. They might even be worse than filthy little Mudbloods, her parents had said. Well, this Argus kid, no matter how many times she had played happily with him in the past, was definitely not worth her time, with his crooked nose and disproportionate eyes (though admittedly his smile was nice).

"What's that?" Argus asked, tilting his head to a side. It sounded like squid, he thought.

"That means you can't do magic," Victoria said, shifting as far away as possible from him. "You aren't one of _us_."

Argus was offended. Of course he could do magic! Couldn't he? His birthday had been three days ago, and the Hogwarts letter still hadn't arrived. His parents seemed depressed most of the time, and they had even told him themselves that he couldn't perform magic. Was it true then? Could it be true that Argus was the odd one out here?

He had never shown signs of magic since birth, he pondered, scratching his chin for an imaginary beard. But his brother had been hiccuping sparks and bouncing off the walls like a balloon since he hit seven. Did that mean that he was to be excluded from the wonders of the wizarding world, so soon after having been introduced to them? For a boy of such young age, he was already starting to feel the panic and despair of life's unfairness.

"Why aren't you talking anymore?" Victoria asked despite having vowed never to go near that Argus kid ever again. In her defense, he had been sitting on the floor with his left eye twitching nervously for the past two minutes, and he was freaking her out. Fortunately (for Victoria), her parents soon stormed out of the living room (looking quite disgusted, she wondered if they had argued with Argus' parents) and swooped her up.

"What did I tell you about talking to that _boy_?" her father demanded, shaking her slightly. She began to sob uncontrollably. Her parents had never shook her or look so angry before.

"I didn't… t… talk to him!" she wailed. "He… he… talked to me… _first_! It's not my _fault_!"

Her father's eyes softened, and he picked her up. Casting one last swooping, disgusted glance at the Filch family, he left the hall. Argus could still hear his boots marching loudly to the front door and slamming it shut.

He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and frowned. For some reason, he felt like he would be hearing the word _Squib_ a lot more often now, after his eleventh birthday.

* * *

_VI_

"What are you doing?' he asked his brother, who appeared to be glaring at his toy broomstick. So much had changed since the night of the melting cake (which was what Argus had started to call it). People stopped visiting at his home. Whenever they went to Diagon Alley, people hissed _Squib-lover_ at his parents and nobody seemed to want to meet his eye. One wizard in a long green robe actually _kicked_ him as he passed. Argus had a large purple bruise on his stomach as proof.

"I'm trying to get this broomstick to move with _my mind_," his brother proclaimed grandly, before returning to his task.

"You won't be able to do it," Argus decided, frowning. "You aren't smart enough."

"How would you know?" his brother snarled, his eyes becoming angry slits. "You're a _Squib_." Already, the whispers in the streets were beginning to affect his cheery, happy-go-lucky brother. Because of his older brother, he had been shunned, his cookie snatched, his bag shoved open and its contents spilled. He was no longer charming, adorable Nathan Filch, who old ladies cooed over and people gave cookies to. He was Nathan Filch, brother of a Squib, sulking and crossing his arms in the corner.

Argus frowned and was about to retort when his mother stuck her head in. Her eyes were bloodshot red, so he guessed that she and his father had fought again. They had argued countless times since his birthday.

"Mr Hendrikson is here," she said softly, not even bothering to force out a smile. She never seemed to smile anymore. Black bags stood out prominently beneath her eyes on her deathly pale skin. Argus could no longer clearly remember the times when his mother had put on an ear-splitting dimpled grin.

Mr Hendrikson was a tutor shunned by the wizarding world due to the fact that: a. He was a Squib, and b. His students were mostly Squibs. He was intelligent and by far the best tutor available, but most families didn't want him anywhere near their children, and even if they did, he could only teach them till they reached the age of eleven. Thus, his mostly Squib students.

Brought back to reality by a sharp nudge in the ribs from his brother, Argus nodded obediently and went out of the room. As he entered the study where the aging Mr Hendrikson awaited, he could already hear his parents resuming their "discussion" (read: argument). They had been at odds since his birthday. They loved him and all, but they had conflicting thoughts about what would be the best for Argus.

"We can't protect him all of his life! Sooner or later, he's going to need to face the real world, and I'd rather he do it now when we're by his side encouraging him!" a masculine voice shouted, presumably his father.

"What real world? What do you want us to do? He'll be shunned by his own society!" he could barely decipher his mother's voice as Mr Hendrikson told him kindly to flip open his textbook. It had acquired a rather hysterical edge. As Argus read through the history of some great wizard distractedly, he couldn't help looking up at the ceiling and wondering desperately, _Why me?_

Life was looking bad for eleven-year-old Argus Filch. People might say that it was so bad it could only get better, but that's a pretty crap statement. Life was only going to get a lot, lot worse.

* * *

**Disclaimer: "But mothers lie. It's in the job description" direct quote from John Green's "Abundance of Katherines", a book I have read and re-read so many times the lines are imprinted in my head. I bet you were all momentarily fooled that I was a good writer. P:**

**Anyway, thanks for reading. This is going to be rather short, so let me just explain it right now. It might just have two chapters, since I was thinking about a chapter on his childhood and a chapter on his adulthood, but it might split into three, so stick around. Chapter(s) to come soon, I'll update as soon as possible.**

**Peek preview of next chapter:**

_**Argus tore open the wrapping excitedly, his heart soaring. It was by far one of the best days ever in his life. He looked down in the box, and grinned in delight as he scooped up the present within. A little black kitten with a pink bow tied around her neck was looking up at him, its head cocked to the left with an innocent, adorable look. He cuddled her happily.  
**_

_**"I'm going to call you…" he trailed off, thinking of all the wondrous possibilities this kitten could offer. "Mrs Norris."**_


	2. twelve and thirteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP or its characters blah blah. **

**Sorry if I'm slow at updating. Chapter two is up, up up! The next in the series of tragedies that is Argus Filch's life. Tell me what you think, and remember, leave a review on your way out! The reason I update slow is because I don't like writing w/o inspiration. It makes me feel like crap trying to produce something worthwhile, and usually I can't.  
**

**Also, a shout-out to Skylar-of-Gryffindor, the only reviewer on my last chapter who gave me the strength and courage to continue this story when I felt like giving up.**

* * *

_VII_

It was Argus' twelfth birthday, and by far, the best day of his life, he thought, staring down at the wrapped gift in his hands.

His parents stood by a side, giving a rather rare smile, and his brother, for once, was not scowling, choosing to stare curiously at the present in his brother's hands instead.

His parents planned to bring them out to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour in the afternoon. Argus liked Florean Fortescue very much. He was always pleasant and kind, and never said Argus did not belong in Diagon Alley just because he was a Squib (which had been heavily implied by Madam Malkin's when they went robe-shopping).

His brother urged him to open the present excitedly, and his parents gave an approving nod. Grinning widely, Argus tore open the wrapping and took off the lid of the box.

He looked down in the box, and grinned in delight as he scooped up the present within. A little black kitten with a pink bow tied around her neck was looking up at him, its head cocked to the left with an innocent, adorable look. He cuddled her happily.

"I'm going to call you…" he trailed off, thinking of all the wondrous possibilities this kitten could offer. "Mrs Norris." His eyes shone with a type of wonder and excitement only a kid could have, and his parents beamed, thinking that perhaps, their child could lead a happy, normal life after all.

Of course, they were wrong, but it was a nice sentiment. It was ironic how the happiest day of Argus' life would be followed by the worst.

* * *

_VIII_

Mrs Norris woke Argus up before the fire or smoke did. Coughing violently, he woke his brother up frantically, his mind leaping wildly from one thought to another as he held his beloved cat in his arms.

For a moment, he was afraid his brother had suffocated to death in his sleep, but Nathan's eyes soon fluttered open as he coughed.

The duo's first instinct was to throw the door open, but they soon noticed the flames licking at the wooden door, and gave up on the attempt. Argus began to panic. The only way out was through the door and the large glass windows, and they were situated on the second floor.

Nathan remained in control of the situation as his brother began hyperventilating. His eyes scanned his surroundings quickly, his brain quick to adapt to the sudden change of situations. Making up his mind, he grabbed a chair (which, fortunately, hadn't caught fire yet) and hurled it at the window with his remaining strength.

"We have to jump!" Nathan hollered, his voice hoarse. Argus shook his head frantically. There was zero chance of survival! He'd rather die peacefully here, his lungs unable to withstand the intake of smoke, than to lie in a mess of tangled limbs and broken bones on the grass below.

"Please, Argus!" Nathan shouted, his voice cracking. Argus wanted to shake his head again, but there was an underlying desperation in his brother's voice that compelled him to follow his orders. Gulping nervously, he nodded and grabbed his brother's hand.

The two of them looked cautiously at the gaping hole the chair had left. The grass was several feet below, but it might as well have been five hundred miles for twelve-year-old Argus. He hugged Mrs Norris tightly to his chest with one arm and held Nathan's hand in the other.

Nodding sharply at each other, they both took a deep breath (taking in a lot of smoke too), and jumped. Nathan slowed down before he hit the ground, and he lay on the grass unscathed. Argus was not as fortunate.

Hot, white, blinding pain engulfed his body, almost numbing it. He could faintly hear his kitten's mewing, and the last coherent thought he had before losing consciousness was "_Well, at least I did_ something _right._"

* * *

_IX_

He woke up in a ward at St. Mungo's. The first thing he registered was the complete lack of colour. As his eyes fluttered open, his pupils searched left and right, blinking rapidly for something that was not white. He saw the white lights. The white wallpaper. Even the ceiling tiles appeared to be white.

He shifted and saw the Healer sitting patiently next to him, clothed in a lime green that assaulted his eyes more than the blinding white of the ward. She leaned over interestedly at the sudden movement and smiled kindly down at him. Argus tried to smile back, but it turned out more like a grimace of pain. She frowned in concern.

"You all right, dear?" she asked kindly, her voice soft and thankfully something that did not assault Argus' senses. The sound of her voice finally made Argus more aware of his surroundings. What was going on?

"What happened?" he croaked, his voice cracked and altogether unpleasant. He winced at the sound of it.

"There was a fire, dear," she said, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. Argus flinched and clutched at his head, memories flashing in and out of his mind. There was fire. Burning, hot fire. Mrs Norris… His brother… his parents...

"Where are my family?" he asked, ignoring the alarmed look that had appeared on the Mediwitch's face when he had his splitting headache. "Where are they?" he demanded again roughly, as the Healer remained mute.

"Your brother's safe and sound," she finally answered, averting his gaze. "Bounced right off the grass like a beachball." His heart sank. Why wasn't she answering the question fully?

"My parents?" he insisted, leaning over his bed and clutching at the witch desperately. His eyes sought out hers, a desperation for an answer. His parents had to be alright. They had to be. They were going to live to a ripe old age, watching their grandchildren frolic in the grass of their manor. His heart sank again. The manor that was now if not partially, then completely destroyed.

"They… they…" she stuttered, trying to push herself away from this lanky, unnerving boy. Before she had the chance to answer his question, the door burst open and two wizards strode in authoritatively. They wore purple robes that Argus recognized as Ministry of Magic uniforms, and they shoved the nice Healer out of the way roughly.

"You got your wish, the boy managed to recover from his injuries. We've been lenient enough, letting him stay in this hospital when he should've been sent to one of those _Muggle_ places, with their silly little doc-somethings. We have orders to bring him over to the orphanage now," the taller wizard said, scowling as he loomed over the Healer.

Argus did not hear the Healer argue with the Ministry workers. He did not pay attention as they pulled her away from him. He did not flinch when they dragged him roughly out of the door. He did not register anything as they shoved him into a black car with his brother, did not care as it pulled away still echoing with his brother's sobs. He did not even think when they dropped him and his brother off at a dreary-looking crooked little house, a note crumpled in his hand.

The same word echoed repeatedly in his mind, as he pushed open the spiked black gates and led his brother along like a lamb to slaughter.

_Orphanage. Orphanage. Orphanage._

* * *

_X_

"Argus, go sweep the floors downstairs," the matron instructed monotonously. He consented obediently, trotting down the stairs of the orphanage and rummaging through the closet for a broom.

It was their third week there. Each day, Nathan had refused sullenly to eat or do anything as Argus obediently followed every order that was given. Each night, Nathan's sniffles and sobs were heard throughout the room as he cried himself to sleep. Argus lay in his bed, unblinking and silent till morning, hugging Mrs Norris firmly in his arms, not shedding a tear. The matron thought that Argus was completely recovered and that Nathan still needed plenty of therapy and work. It's funny how ironic the human mind is.

All wounds that appear at first sight to be deep heal eventually, the tissues knitting together to form new skin. The rest leave permanent scars. Nathan was mourning, he was miserable, and he would soon recover from the grief of his parents' death. Argus had given up completely on mourning. His inner tissues had given up on healing his wounds. In a way, this incident left a deeper scar on Argus than his brother.

As he pulled open the closet door and reached for the dirty, filth-covered broom, a hand stopped his way, pale and skinny from lack of food or sleep. Argus turned and was faced with his brother, weary-looking face, sunken features and all.

"Did you ever care?" his brother asked abruptly, his eyes hardened and his brows furrowed. "About Dad and Mum?" Argus' face was blank. How could his brother be asking such an absurd question.

"Because you act like you didn't, don't, whatever," he continued, eyes blazing with an anger Argus had never encountered before. "They're _dead_ because of you! I don't have _parents_ because of you!"_  
_

"What the hell do you mean?" Argus demanded, the blank demeanor he had been working so hard on finally cracking. "There was a kitchen fire! What do you think, I snuck out in the middle of the night to set the stove on fire?" he shouted, grabbing his brother up by the scruff of his neck.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know!" his brother spat, his eyes narrowing in utter contempt and hate. "You caused it! They even told me, the Ministry workers! Some wizarding family got mad because we were sheltering a filthy _Squib_, so they planned a freaking _murder_! Don't act like you're bloody innocent, Argus Filch, because you sure as hell aren't!"

Argus sagged and dropped to his knees, releasing his hold on his brother. Could it be true? Had the truth been concealed from him? Were his parents were dead… because of him?

His brother hissed a final insult and stomped off, muttering angrily about traitors and filth. Argus gathered himself up and walked stonily past the corridors. The other kids in the manor did not question about this shouting match between the brothers, did not pester him about his brother's outburst. Argus thanked the heavens that they all seemed utterly preoccupied in their own business to care about a sibling's argument.

Later in the evening, when they were given free time to roam the orphanage grounds, Argus locked himself up in the boy's toilet and sat on the floor for a whole hour.

For the first time in three weeks, he let himself cry.

* * *

_XI_

"I'm looking for a child to adopt," Argus heard a bright voice proclaim outside. Lonely couples, young and old alike, visited the orphanage frequently, but Argus had never been chosen. Nathan was usually a promising candidate in the possible parents' point of view, though the matron like pushing Argus to them.

They looked for bright and happy children, some even took in depressed, lonely souls, but nobody liked Argus. His disproportionate features and crooked nose made people eye him uneasily, and his eyes looked piercing and unnerving, giving many people looking to adopt the chills. Nathan was sullen and he did not want to be adopted. He had already gained a large circle of friends in the orphanage, while Argus had gained none.

Even so, Nathan had a certain charm that drew people to him no matter how sarcastic and hateful he acted. He had the air of a leader, and the mind of a genius. The matron would put Argus in front of adopters, recommending him for his obedience and discipline, and they would look to his sulking brother interestedly like a moth drawn to fire.

Argus looked out of the door hopefully. Nathan broke all rules of the orphanage while Argus followed them strictly, but he seemed to enjoy living in the orphanage much more than Argus ever could. Nathan adapted to his situation. Argus expected himself to adapt just by being an obedient lamb, but for all he could do, the homesickness was unbearable.

The door tinkled as a young woman marched in, looking bright and happy. When she smiled, dimples showed, and Argus was instantly drawn to her radiance. Nathan continued playing with other kids in the corner, completely ignoring this stranger.

As usual, the matron pointed out several model children, including Argus, but the woman's eyes seemed glued to the corner Nathan was sitting in. She ignored the matron and slowly made her way to the corner. Argus tried putting himself in her way desperately, but the woman just walked around him like a mere obstacle. She crouched next to Nathan, finally drawing his attention from his action figures.

"Hi there," she said kindly, sticking her hand out in a friendly manner. "What's your name?"

"Nathan," the boy said easily, frowning at being interrupted from his game and turning to return to it. Oh, what Argus wouldn't have given to be in Nathan's position right then.

"My name's Leanne," the woman said cheerily, keeping her hand up and ignoring the disgruntled look on Nathan's face. "Would you like to go home with me?" she asked.

Argus watched mutely as Nathan turned, about to refuse her offer like he did to all the adopters that had tried this similar approach. He waited patiently for the flat-out "no" that Nathan would always give with a sulky frown, but it did not come. Instead, Nathan looked oddly struck by the woman's sincerity, in her honest features and kindly face.

Argus did not show any emotion as his brother hesitantly accepted the proffered hand. He took a sharp intake of breath as he watched the paperwork filled out. When asked, his brother proclaimed that he did not find the need to say goodbye to anybody. At this, Argus had looked down to the floor. His eyes were still trained to the floor when the bell on the door had jingled again, signaling their exit. He had looked up sharply, struck with the sudden urge, the _need_, to see his brother one last time.

He saw nothing but the matron's back, waving her hand merrily as she shut the door and locked it. His brother had left. Argus was struck with a desperate fear that he would never see his brother again. He had already lost his parents. He could not be losing his brother so soon as well.

Shooting up, he ran frantically to the door, trying to shake it open. He did not hear the matron's cries as he clawed at the door in despair. The entire population of the orphanage winced as his shrill, inhuman-sounding cries echoed the halls. The matron finally agreed to unlock the door, but as Argus dashed out to the streets, all he could see was the boot of a brown car as it drove off bumpily. He collapsed to his feet, letting out choked sobs, and remained there until the matron carried him up and into his bedroom.

As it turns out, the fear of losing his brother forever was not irrational. He never saw his brother again.

* * *

**Sorry I ended the chapter on such a sad note. ****Again, I apologize for being a slow updater. On another note, I might be starting another fic soon about Florean Fortescue, because I just like minor characters like that. ****He sounds like a nice guy, no? Yet so horribly under-appreciated. Also, he's murdered at the end by Voldemort, so it'd be like, a tribute to his niceness.**

**..Either that or it's Draco attending the Golden Trio's funeral in an AU where Voldemort kills them in the Final Battle, because I'm just depressing like that.**

**This story might actually end at four chapters. Sad, because I like ending stories on numbers like three, five, seven and ten. Leave a review on your way out~**


	3. fourteen to twenty-one

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially Skylar-Of-Gryffindor, whose reviews make me grin like an idiot. You're all remarkably awesome. This story is becoming a lot longer than originally intended.**

**Anyway, previous chapters appear to have made Argus sound like some heavily misunderstood saint, so I just want to correct that perspective. He didn't deserve the misery in his life, but he isn't exactly a very nice person either.**

* * *

_XII_

Fourteen-year-old Argus Filch was extremely bored as he watched the rain splatter on his window, hugging Mrs Norris to his chest. There was absolutely nothing to do. It was a Saturday, which meant they usually got to go outside for a game, but it began to rain heavily, so the children were ushered inside and told to play with their friends. Granted, Argus had no friends other than his beloved cat.

Therefore, he was now in his dormitory, looking out the window like a depressed soul, which admittedly, he was. He could not, for the life of him, figure out why nobody seemed to like him.

Was he just not handsome enough? That couldn't be it. Sure, he was oddly scrawny and disproportionate, and his face looked beaten up all the time, but he had seen much worse-looking kids at least have one or two friends. What was it that he lacked, or had, that drove people away?

He had always thought of himself as a nice, all-around decent guy, but evidently others did not think so. He just did not seem to have the social skills that most were born with. Everyone seemed to understand each other, their train of thought, how they felt at a certain remark, but Argus simply could not understand how other people thought.

Argus wasn't even interesting enough to beat up. He was just boring. That was the word that described Argus Filch most. Boring. Even other kids that got beaten up by bullies had friends, other social outcasts teaming up to form allies. Argus had blamed his lack of friends at home due to his inability to perform magic. What excuse did he have this time?

The others called him a teacher's pet, a tattletale, but the rules were there for a reason. Couldn't the others see that he was protecting them from worse punishments?

Last week, he had overheard a girl telling her friends she was going to sneak out to see a boy she met at the bakery. Naturally, he had informed the matron about this. After that, the other kids had shunned him even more, claiming he would sell out all their secrets. That wasn't his fault, Argus was just helping the girl. She would've been caught sneaking out and punished, or worse, the boy could've been some criminal.

Sighing heavily, Argus slipped out of the room and decided to join a group of friends before he chickened out. Maybe his lack of friends was just due to lack of effort. Perhaps they all thought he was an anti-social freak who _didn't_ want to make friends.

He saw one of the kids his age, David, chatting with his friends by the hall. David had asked him to pass the marmalade this morning, even saying "please". That had to count for something, right?

"Hello," Argus said stiffly, mimicking David's posture and leaning against the corridor. "How are all of you?" he asked formally, thinking it seemed a polite start. Instead of being flattered like he thought they might, they laughed snidely.

"Look at him, all polite and stiff, like some kind of lawyer," one of David's friends mocked, snorting. Argus had no idea what a lawyer was, but it didn't sound very nice, from the likes of it. "Already have big dreams, eh, Filch? Planning on becoming some fancy doctor like the matron wants?"

"Doctor" was a term Argus was familiar with. He liked helping out in the small hospital wing at the orphanage, bandaging wounds and examining fractures. It was his pet hobby.

"As a matter of fact, I am planning on entering a medical school and becoming a surgeon," Argus said politely, remembering the conversation he had had with the matron the other day, discussing his future.

"Ooh, look at him, such big plans," David said, smirking. Argus frowned, he had thought that David, at least, would be polite to him. "I even overheard him talking to the matron the other day. Had her simpering like he always does, such a teacher's pet. 'Oh, Argus, you'll grow up to be a great doctor some day, I'm sure'," he said, mimicking the matron and batting his eyelashes.

Argus frowned. That had been a very encouraging talk that had brought Argus to high spirits for the week. "Well, if you're going to be so abominably rude, I'll just leave," he said, sniffing. There, he thought triumphantly, now they'll be begging for forgiveness!

Let me assure you. They did not.

"Leave then," a boy in grey shorts said, crossing his arms. "Like anyone wants you here anyway. You'll just report everything you hear to the matron anyway. Remember how he sold out Betty?"

"Yeah, the little tattletale. Nobody wants you hear, you filthy scum," David said, his eyes narrowing. "Ain't worth our spit."

Argus frowned and stalked off, affronted. How dare they? Why did conversations with him always end like that? He wasn't that bad. No, they were just prejudiced idiots, and he certainly would not deal with them, or anyone else that looked down on him. He didn't need them.

Yes, Argus decided, stomping back to his dormitory. He didn't need anyone except his Mrs Norris.

* * *

_XIII_

He was fifteen now, leaning over a small biscuit he had snuck out of the tea-room this morning, probably the most undisciplined action he had ever made. He took out his box of matches and struck one, sticking it into the biscuit firmly. There was just two minutes left.

He placed his two palms together and kneeled by his bedside. He had never really prayed before, but he had watched other kids do it, and it brought a little comfort to him thinking that perhaps he was not totally alone.

"Come on, Mrs Norris," he whispered, picking up his cat gently and placing her by him. She meowed in protest, but settled down after a moment.

It was a minute to midnight. Argus bit his lip worriedly, patting the cat beside him.

Fifty seconds. He clutched at his bed sheets, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if it woke up all the other children.

Thirty. He stared at the lonely, depressed-looking biscuit, which he did not plan on eating at all. After all, there was a match stuck in the middle of it.

Ten seconds to midnight. He stared at the battered, old watch the matron had given him. What if it wasn't as accurate as he thought? What if it was already midnight, somewhere in another town?

_Five… four… three… two…_

One. He imagined an owl tapping away at his brother's window, cheerily sticking out its leg like Argus remembered his parents' pet owl used to do. He imagined his brother waking up, the look of ecstasy on his brother's face as he woke up his foster mother happily, spouting stories of wizards and brooms and magical castles.

For a moment, he was vaguely comforted with his imagination, but the moment soon passed and he was struck back to reality, a reality where he was just a lonely teenager with a dirty biscuit staying up way past his bedtime. Silently, he blew out the match and threw the biscuit neatly into the rubbish bin.

Tucking himself in, he stared at the dingy ceiling tiles and wondered if perhaps the problem with his imagination was that he had not been present at such an important affair in his brother's life.

* * *

_XIV_

Standing by the dining table as the matron congratulated him on being a year older, Argus did not feel anything but more exhaustion. Sixteen. Three years had passed since he last saw his brother, four since his parents. Time crawled as slowly as ever, but still he stood here, in the middle of a crowd of unenthusiastic teenagers as they half-heartedly wished him "Happy Birthday" for the matron's sake.

He leaned over and blew out the candles, smiling cheerily because that was what was expected of him. Some children were sitting uninterestedly by a side, some only seemed interested in the frosting-covered cake. He certainly would not have imagined his sixteen-year-old birthday as such. There would've been confetti and food, his family and _actually happy_ teenagers.

Another birthday had passed that he hadn't seen or heard from his brother. He had hoped for a small gift by post, maybe even a letter. He decided this was much worse compared to the loss of his parents. They would've wanted to be here, by his side, as he opened his sole present from the matron. They just didn't have the chance because they were buried six feet underground.

His brother didn't want anything to do with him. He had been cut off from his life, completely ignored as a family member. The first few weeks, he had expected a letter or two, maybe even a visit. He was sure Leanne would've understood, but so far, it appeared his brother hadn't even bothered to talk of him. He was a disgrace, a social outcast, even his _family_ didn't want him.

He could imagine the life his brother was leading now, going to Hogwarts after the summer holidays, being greeted by friends and sitting through the Sorting like his parents had always talked of. Both of his parents had been in Hufflepuff. Was Nathan placed there as well? He doubted it. Hufflepuffs had been described as steady and loyal. He didn't think Nathan was either.

He was interrupted from his thoughts as a kid nudged him, the matron was holding out a piece of cake to him. He accepted it half-heartedly, taking a seat on the staircase to munch on it. It tasted good, frosting and cream and all, but as it melted, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He would not see his family again. He had no friends. All he had was the matron and his cat.

He stabbed his cake viciously. It did nothing to relieve his anger.

* * *

_XV_

He washed the grime of his hands patiently, a phone pressed between his ears and his shoulders as he listened to a customer rant about the horrible quality of a car he had repaired.

Guess what? He hadn't made it into medical college. No surprise there. He was of legal age (eighteen), and therefore the orphanage could kick him out as they please. Unfortunately, that would mean he would have no roof above his head.

The matron had pleaded his case, and the orphanage head had relented. A fraction of his salary as a car repairman would go to the orphanage. They would provide him with breakfast and dinner, and he would have lunch at the shop. They were content to give him his old bed.

So here he was, wiping the water off his hands and patiently explaining to the aforementioned customer that the functions of the car would be rather bumpy for a few days still, living under the roof he had been so desperate to escape.

He had watched his dorm-mates (those that had not been adopted out, that is) move onto a better life outside of the orphanage, while he was still stuck in that same old bed, now sleeping next to children one year younger than him. He felt like a failure. He hadn't even managed to become a doctor, his pet dream.

He picked up a wrench from the ground (honestly, people could easily trip and injure themselves!) and finally lost his temper with the angry customer, shouting that if she was so unhappy with their services, then she might as well not come to the shop. All in a good day's work.

"Fine then! I'll tell all my friends what horrible service your shop has!" she screamed back, followed by a vicious _click_. Argus sighed. The boss will not be happy.

* * *

_XVI_

He appeared when Argus was closing up the shop. The other workers had already left, and Argus was given the key by the boss and told to close up.

After shutting down the shop and locking it, he had come face to face with an old man. He had auburn hair with streaks of greyish white, and a long beard. On top of this, he wore a purple hat with silver stars and vibrant purple robes.

Argus knew this set of attire. He was seeing a wizard, for the first time in eight years.

"Who are you?" he demanded, more shocked than displeased. Here was a link to his old life, of magical broomsticks and spells, a link he was so desperate for.

It was so hard to remember these things now, that Argus almost thought it had all been his imagination, his parents' talk of Hogwarts and the houses and Quidditch and potions. Had it all been a lie he had thought up? he had wondered so often, aching for a sign that it had not all been his imagination.

Well, here it was. A sign of his sanity was standing right in front of him.

"Albus Dumbledore, at your service," the man said delicately, tipping his hat. "Newly-appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you, I believe, are Argus Filch."

Argus felt like his head was spinning. Was this the great Transfiguration professor his parents had spoken of? The one that had discovered the 12 uses of dragon blood; who had defeated the nasty Gellert Grindelwald?

"That's right," he finally managed, trying to sound polite. After all, his mother drummed into his mind at a young age to be polite in all situations. The old man adjusted his half-moon glasses and looked vaguely amused.

"I have an offer to make."

* * *

_XVII_

Albus Dumbledore had just offered him a position at Hogwarts. Argus could not believe it. The old caretaker at Hogwarts had retired, sure, but why wouldn't he look for a wizard to take up a position, or put an advertisement up in the _Prophet_?

Argus could not wrap his head around this turn of events, but he wasn't very well going to question it. For years, he had been craving for a return ticket back to the wizarding world, and here the Headmaster had just strolled up and offered it.

Argus could not refuse the yearning in his heart. He had said yes, and Dumbledore had promised to pick him up from the orphanage in three days time. He hadn't revealed much, though Argus had pestered him with constant questions.

How would Hogwarts be like? What were the duties of a caretaker? Was he expected to mix around with the students much?

He had to clean the floors, mop up the place, and in general, clean up after the students' mess, but no amount of heavy duties could put a damper on Argus' mood. His heart was soaring, he felt so elated that he did not even bother to comfort the matron when she started the waterworks after he informed her that he would be leaving.

It was going to be different at Hogwarts. They would respect him, maybe he'd even make some friends. Or a girlfriend. Of course, there was absolutely no need of informing them that he was a Squib.

After all, it had brought nothing but trouble the past few years. What would bringing up this factor contribute? Their sympathy? Argus snorted. He didn't need their sympathy.

He was starting a brand new life at the place he loved most, and he definitely was not going to screw this up as well.

* * *

**I have recently noticed that owls actually don't send your letters at the midnight of your birthday. Oh well, too late to back up, I guess. This story is getting a lot longer than previously expected. I was expecting two chapters. This might end up becoming five or six.**

**Anyway, I just want everyone to understand that Argus might not be that bad a guy, but he really lacks humility. He truly does not want to accept that he has flaws. I mean, in his personality. He blames everything that goes wrong in his life on the fact that he's a Squib.**

**…Does anyone think I should make Argus have a crush on Irma Pince? I mean, when they're both in, like, their twenties? **


	4. twenty-two

**Unnecessary disclaimer: I don't own HP or its characters, blah.**

**Chapter four is up!**

* * *

_XVIII_

"So, Argus, I gather you are ready to leave?" Dumbledore asked, looming over everyone at the orphanage.

"Yes, sir," he said respectfully, tugging along his small suitcase with his meager possessions. He wished Dumbledore could've chose more Muggle-like clothing. With his pointed hat and thick robes, everyone at the orphanage was whispering about how Argus was going to work for a crackpot. Well, no matter. Argus was leaving anyway and he was content to work for this man, no matter how utterly insane he could be.

"Oh, Argus, have you packed all your clothes?" the matron asked fussily, wiping away her tears with a handkerchief and forcing out a smile. Argus felt a twitch of regret. This was the only person to have remotely cared for him in the past few years. This was the woman who had bandaged his wounds, gave him a shelter, and nurture his dreams.

"I'll miss you," he said sincerely, hugging her. She no longer made any attempt to wipe away her streaming tears.

"Good luck," she whispered into his ear, a soothing elderly-grandmother sort of voice that made Argus feel safe. "You've always made me proud," she said, pulling away and smiling at him with glistening eyes. The children at the orphanage were gawking now, this usually stern woman reduced to tears.

"Take good care of him, Mr Dumbledore," she said to the old man, bowing her head in respect. So far, she was the only one in the entire building that could pronounce his name properly.

"I will, and your sentiments, I'm sure, are well-appreciated," he said kindly, tipping his hat.

"Goodbye," Argus said awkwardly to the room in general. His eyes locked in on the matron. She was the only one in the room that was going to remember him after a week's time, anyway. He felt a feeling swell in him, a sort of gratitude for the maternal love she had showered on him. For the first time in years, he felt oddly tempted to blurt out something that wasn't pre-planned. _Thank you for treating me like a son_.

He swallowed down his words. They were just going to make the parting feel worse, and what good would they do? Better to let the matron think he was leaving with all ties cut, no feeling of regret in his heart.

He nodded at Dumbledore, and together, the two of them stepped out into the chilly London air.

* * *

_XIX_

"Mr Rogers, unfortunately, has retired from old age and declined from showing you the handles about the place," Dumbledore said, frowning. Argus wondered how the man could've refused one of Dumbledore's wishes. The man had a sort of I-know-everything-about-you attitude that made people extremely nervous about declining him.

The two of them were seated in the Headmasters' office, after Flooing in. Argus had almost whooped in excitement when he had seen the Floo powder. For years, he had felt shunned by both societies, not a wizard, yet not completely a Muggle either. Now he was in a room so remarkably _wizard-like_ that he felt at home. _This_ was where he should be.

"That's quite alright, sir, I'm sure I'll adapt soon enough," Argus said confidently, though he blinked several times to stop the overwhelming sense of dizziness in his head. This was way too much excitement in a day.

"Marvelous, marvelous," Dumbledore said, smiling as he nodded along with his words. "I'll show you to your office then, Mr Filch."

"That would be great, yes," he answered in amusement. This old man talked like he was under the impression that there was all the time left in the world, but nothing could dampen Argus' mood today. His heart beat wildly in his ribcage every time he looked around the room. _He was in Hogwarts_!

"This way, Mr Filch," Dumbledore said politely, standing up and taking up an ancient-looking lamp from his table. Tapping the lamp with his wand and muttering an incantation, the lamp floated up from Dumbledore's hands and bobbed along by Argus' side, as though urging him along.

Argus almost did a little dance in excitement. The entire room thrummed with years and centuries of magic, a sudden gateway to the heaven Argus had been shut out of so early in his years.

"If you'll follow the lamp, it will lead you to your office, as well as your chambers," Dumbledore said. "I do hope you'll settle into Hogwarts as well as possible. It's just the middle of July, so you'll have plenty of time to adjust. Classes start on the 2nd of September, but the students will arrive on the 1st."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sure I'll do just fine, so you won't have to worry," Argus said politely, turning to the lamp. It bobbed twice, as though understanding the situation, and floated through the large oak doors and out of the office. He casted a glance around the room, grinned, and stepped out of the office.

* * *

_XX_

It had been two weeks since Argus first arrived at Hogwarts, and he loved it already. For the first few days, he scrubbed furiously until the floors were sparkly clean, but an old, ancient maintenance charm that had been cast centuries ago still kept the castle in relatively fit and clean condition.

He didn't have much basic cleaning or maintaining to do, but once in a while a teacher would forget to clean up a mess here and there and he would have to scrub it up. Other than that, he was pretty free, but he suspected that would change once the students started streaming in from all places of the world.

In his free time, he roamed about the magical castle and explored the nooks and crannies, which brought him a lot of pleasure. Staying a good distance away from the Forbidden Forest (he had, after all, no means to defend himself), he wandered along the greenhouses and towers, greeting the teachers he came along with a friendly smile. He was, after all, new to the staff, and he didn't want to make a bad impression.

The teachers that were staying in Hogwarts were rather pleasant, but odd fellows, he surmised. Horace Slughorn recently Flooed in from his vacation at Vancouver, sporting a bucket full of frog eggs and a suitcase jam-packed with what Argus made out to be unicorn hair. Argus tried to distance himself from the peculiar fellow, but Horace insisted on inviting him for a drink of Butterbeer at Hogsmeade. Long story short, Argus had to drag the man back as he sung Christmas carols.

One of Argus' favourite spots to head to was the Hogwarts library. He knew he wouldn't be able to spend much time there once the students arrived and wanted to study there, so he made good use of his free time and borrowed several books to read up. There was a nice intern there, Irma Pince, who was new too and suggested several useful books to study.

He was clutching his copy of _1001 Magical Creatures_ when he first came upon a hut, situated a few hundred feet away from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Curious, he followed his gut feeling and rapped on the door loudly. After hearing a lot of shuffling and weird noises, he was quite ready to set off running, but then the door swung open and he felt obliged to stay, quivering in his boots.

In the doorway stood a big, burly man, who sported a long tangled brown beard and had to peer over it to see Argus. The man's black eyes crinkled as he grinned down at him, and Argus felt rather self-conscious of his meager height.

"'ello there, you must be the new arrival in the staff Dumbledore spoke of!" he bellowed, a loud, booming noise that was rather startling. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper." Argus frowned and rubbed his right ear, irritated. Was this man always so boisterous and loud?

"What's yer name again? Feenk? Farish? I can't seem to remember," Rubeus said, encouraged by Argus' silence.

"Argus Filch, actually," he said, frowning. "I seem to be rather lost. I was actually on my way to see the North Tower. Would you mind giving me directions there, Rubeus?"

"Call me Hagrid, nobody calls me Rubeus now other than Dumbledore," Hagrid said with a booming laugh. "And yer going in the completely wrong direction, Filch. The North Tower's all the way back there!" he shouted, pointing vaguely in a direction.

"Well, thank you for your help, nonetheless," Argus said stiffly, clutching his book to his chest as though to protect it from the burly gamekeeper.

"Would you like to stay for some tea and rock cakes?" Hagrid asked, peering kindly down at him as he waved a tray of food at him. Argus squinted at the tray and made out the outline of what appeared to be _rocks_ in the shape of cupcakes.

"Err, I'll pass on that offer, I really need to get going," Argus said hastily, tripping over his feet in his hurry to get away. Getting up quickly, he sped away and shouted a quick "Thank you anyway!" over his shoulder.

Hagrid frowned, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared after the man. _Oh well_, he shrugged. _Plenty of weird people here at Hogwarts._

* * *

_XXI_

It was two weeks before classes started at Hogwarts when Argus first saw it. He was making his daily rounds around Hogwarts, scrutinizing the floor skeptically for stains or dirt he could effectively removed, when he came upon the trophy room.

Having seen so many classrooms and offices here and there in the castle in a haphazard order, he shrugged and pushed open the door. Whistling a cheerful tune as he inspected several trophies and record books located in the room, he flipped open a black book to the latest entries and stopped short. The happy tune he had been whistling turned into dead silence.

_Nathan Filch_,_ Age 17, _the book wrote, the last entry printed in neat wording, the last in the list of names on the last page of the book. All the records here magically updated themselves, and Argus flipped to the cover of the book, the title printed in neat, bold black ink: _Head Prefects of Hogwarts_.

Argus searched through the book for any other sign of his brother's existence at Hogwarts, but all they seemed to hold was an endless list of names and names, of children long forgotten. His brother had been Head Boy at Hogwarts. Argus slapped his forehead, groaning at his own stupidity. In his excitement at this new world of magic and enchantments, he had forgotten of his younger brother.

He sat down on the trophy room floor, for once not caring about the dirt that could be transmitted onto his clothes. Holding up a few fingers and counting desperately, he came to the conclusion that his brother had graduated the year before with a colourful string of swears and curses. He ached to see his brother one last time, that fleeting chance to say goodbye to his sibling at the orphanage so cruelly taken away by his brother himself.

_Dumbledore_, he thought. _Dumbledore would have a solution_. He stormed up the stairs, not caring for the sounds of his stomps on the crystal clean marble, and after practically shouting the password at the stone gargoyles, barged into the Headmaster's office unannounced. In a mad frenzy of the moment, his manners were forgotten, this was _far_ more important to his heart.

"I need to see my brother!" he shouted, ignoring the startled glance of the Headmaster, hating how vulnerable and broken his voice sounded.

"Argus, your brother left last year, he's no longer attending Hogwarts-"

"I don't care! I need to see him!" he demanded, hating himself for his thinly-veiled desperation. "I just- I need…"

"Argus," Dumbledore said, the sparkle gone from his brilliant blue eyes and replaced by a sort of perpetual sadness Argus had seen in many old citizens sitting by the streets. "I cannot help you with this. He has already graduated from Hogwarts, and we don't hold any records of what happens to him after that."

"But you could check!" Argus reasoned, clutching to the back of a chair in an almost hysterical fashion. "You know people in the Ministry, you could ask them for help. Please, Headmaster, I _need_ to see him."

Dumbledore sighed, looking down at his desk and frowning. Argus felt frustrated and desperate. This was the most powerful wizard of the century. How could he not do something as easy as search up the location of one person?

"Argus, it's not that easy. Your brother, he…" Dumbledore trailed, resting his head on one of his hands and massaging his temple as though it hurt him to say it. "Before he left, he made specific directions to not let anyone know about him or where he came from. Even if I told you where he is now, I don't think he'll welcome you with open arms, Argus."

"What?" Argus asked incredulously, feeling ridiculously short of breath. "Why would he do that? He's my _brother_. He's the only family I have left!"

"Argus-"

"And _you!_ Is this the great Albus Dumbledore at his best? You hired me, brought me _all the_ _way_ here to Hogwarts, knowing blatantly that my brother left such instructions? What the hell are you _on_, cocaine?" Argus shouted, tears rolling down now shamelessly, not caring that the Headmaster probably knew nothing of Muggle drugs.

"Argus, I didn't mean for you to find out this way-"

"Well, guess what? I _did__! _And now you have to deal with it! Why on earth did you even hire me? Did you feel sorry for me or something? _Oh, poor ickle Argus' parents died and now he lives in an orphanage._ Well guess what? This is even worse!" he screamed, wiping his tears furiously with the back of his sleeve.

Dumbledore did not say anything, and refused to meet his eye. Frustrated, Argus stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut, stomping his way down from the office and willing himself to forget the day's events, but it was too late. Now, all he could see was the footprints his brother had left. _Nathan studied here. Nathan used to eat here. Nathan borrowed books here._

Argus reached his office and locked it, taking choking gasps for air as he curled into a fetal position, haunted by memories and opportunities long lost.

* * *

**Erm, this is a pretty depressing chapter. Also, sorry about the lack of updates in so long.**


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